


Take Me Back to the Start

by mother_finch



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen, mother-finch fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-20 04:53:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3637446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mother_finch/pseuds/mother_finch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PROMPT: shoot prompt: Shaw finally learns about Hanna</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take Me Back to the Start

Sitting on the bench in their subway station, Root brings her face to her hands, elbows resting on the tops of her legs. She can feel the heels of her palms digging into her cheek bones, but has no desire to move. No desire to do anything.

"It’s almost that time again," she says aloud, voice a whisper. Sharing the thought with one of the only other two that know. Harold is at work, teaching, and everyone else is away.

"Just you and me," she tells the Machine, knowing She can hear, but wondering if She’s even listening.  _Has to be busy being God_ , she muses to herself, thinking how nice an answer might be. To not be alone in this.  _But I have to be alone in this._

"And me," a voice startles Root out of her glum slouch, and she sits up straight. "That is assuming you  _weren’t_  referring to me before,” the voice continues, and Root silently scolds herself for speaking aloud.  _How did I not hear her,_  she thinks, hearing the steady approach of clicking heels on cold tile. A moment later it stops, and she feels two eyes staring at her profile. She doesn’t move.

* * *

 

"Root…" Shaw trails off, wanting to get her attention in some way, but not knowing how. Still, Root stares straight ahead, hands now folded in her lap. "What’s wrong."

Root debates answering, thinking of the pro’s and con’s.  _How well would it boil over to tell her nothing?_  Root thinks with a fleeting dread, then sighs. “It’s a long story,” she replies at last. She can hear a silent, humored puff of air escape Shaw’s lips.

"Trust me," she assures Root. "I have time."

"It’s nothing you’ve heard before," Root warns, finally looking over to Shaw. She takes in her dark attire, high heels, and hair tied back tightly. The small smile coming and going, knowing now is not the time for smiling, but something keeps it coming back. And her eyes- they’re confusing. They’re regular, expressionless at best, but just like her smile they change briefly every few seconds.  _Is it sympathy? Is it concern?_  Root, unsure of it all, pushes the thought away entirely.

"It’s nothing I can say I  _don’t_  want to hear,” Shaw replies with a small tongue-tie, and Root lets it re-tangle itself a million different ways in her head as Shaw takes a seat at her side. This close now, Root can see the smile last longer before fading, and even then peeking out around the corners of her mouth.

"Why are you smiling?" Root asks, curiosity finally getting the better of her. Shaw instantly goes cold, face dropping entirely; the small flicker in her eyes dying.

"I’m not."

Root narrows her eyes slightly at Shaw, watching her shift slightly under the gaze.

"So what time is it  _'almost'_  again?” Shaw asks, diverting the attention back to Root. Root twists her hands around in her lap, unsure of what to do with them. “Come  _on_ , Root,” Shaw coaxes with impatience, the closest thing she’s ever come to sympathy. “Don’t bottle this up.  _Please_.”

Root feels herself deflate at the words, wanting to fold over on herself like an empty balloon. She starts to lean towards Shaw, realizes what a mistake that would be, then rightens herself once more. Swallowing hard, she clears her throat. “I- I need to tell you about a girl named Hanna.”

___________\ If Your Number’s Up /__________

"Back when I was a kid, I didn’t- I didn’t have many friends. I always understood computers more than I understood people. And then there was Hanna. She’d always been there, you know? She wasn’t the best with technology, never really understood what I saw in it, but she didn’t care. She was- she was my best friend." Root looks down at her hands as she recalls the painful memory. With each word, she can feel a part of her buried deep inside being wrenched to the surface. From her right, Shaw watches Root’s face, every now and then seeing her hands twisting and turning, then returning to her face again. She sits with one leg up on the bench, keeping her full attention to Root.

"We did practically everything together- sleep overs, birthday parties- anything. She liked video games, but could never beat them. The last time, the last time I saw her, she was doing just that. We were at the, uh, library. Night time in a town that  _nothing_  ever happened in, just sitting on the computers. I was…” Root shakes her head, thinking. “I was looking for a  _book_. She was playing some game… Oregon Trail.” A small smile comes to Root’s lips at the memory. “It was such an easy game, I couldn’t understand why it was taking her so long. Simple programming, predictable patterns…” Her smile drops, and Shaw watches the sadness grow in Root’s eyes; she inches closer. “Then, the library closed. She picked up her bag and left- I finished the game for her- then came outside. I saw her talking to Trent Russell. He was in his car, and she was leaning into the passenger window to talk to him. She was always- outgoing. Much more than me. Always smiled in pictures, loved little home made videos. It didn’t seem wrong for her to be talking to someone from our town, but..” She looks over to Shaw with nothing shy of agony etched into her features. Her lip twitches in pain, eyes glistening with the hurt in this one memory. She swallows, takes a moment, but her deep eyes never leave Shaw’s.

"I could feel that something was wrong. It was  _off_. But I just- I just  _stood_  there.” Her voice raises in volume as she continues. “I  _watched_  her talk to that man, and I didn’t say  _anything_. I didn’t  _call_  for her, I didn’t  _tell_  her to walk home with me instead, I didn’t do  _anything_  for her! She was my _best friend_ , and I didn’t do  _anything_  for her! I-“

"Root." Shaw cuts her off, Root’s voice an echoing scream in the subway. Shaw puts a hand on Root’s shoulder, looking her sternly in the eyes. "This is  _not_  your fault.” Root lets out a bitter laugh.

"I let her get in the car with him. I might as well have been the one to  _kill_  her.”

"No," Shaw responds, shaking her head sadly. "No, you couldn’t have known."

"I told the librarian," Root says in a voice that is a whisper. "I told Barbara but she didn’t care about Hanna. She cared about  _Trent_.” There is silence between them for a moment, Shaw’s grip loosening on Root’s shoulder, but staying there none the less. “She was  _gone_.  _Everything_  was  _gone_. Her  _smile_ , her  _laugh_ , her  _memory_ \- it was like she never existed anywhere but in my head.” The despair in her voice is beyond pitiful, and Shaw can feel herself hurting for Root. Root looks in the opposite direction of Shaw, not wanting to crack.

"Is she still missing?" Shaw asks. Then, with more steam, she adds, "We could look for her? I’ll help you, I’ll-"

"She’s not missing anymore," Root replies flatly, and Shaw becomes quiet once more. "Reese- when trying to find me- found out about her. He figured it out- put it to rest. For her, and for me." Root bites her lip, hating these emotions she feels. Shaw sighs, wanting to do more, but unsure what. When Root turns back to her, it is evident she is trying with everything in her to not let tears spill. Shaw’s brows knit together in hurt for her, and her shoulders lower. Root looks back to her hands. "I miss her all the time," she says at last, voice quiet, the only way it won’t crack. Shaw watches her a moment, thinking of what to do.  _Is there anything to do?_

After a long, stretched moment of silence, Shaw sighs, lowering her head but keeping her eyes fixed on Root.  _Please don’t cry_ , she thinks,  _I don’t know what to do if you cry._  She can hear Root sniffle almost inaudibly from where she sits. Slowly, Shaw slides her hand off of Root’s shoulder and across her back, pulling Root into her. Root doesn’t object, just lets herself be eased in against Shaw, as she brings her other arm protectively around Root’s front. Root’s shoulder digs into Shaw’s neck, but she doesn’t say anything, just rests her chin on the top of Root’s head. Root still wrings her hands in her lap, feeling the skin becoming raw on her fingers.

"Sameen?"

"Hm?"

"I don’t know."

Shaw pulls her in closer, lacing her fingers together at Root’s far shoulder. Her eyes widen with slight confusion,  _is this how comforting works?_  She hopes beyond all belief that she is at least helping a little. “No, tell me,” she replies, voice slightly muffled.

"She’s  _dead_ ,” Root says quietly, but the words ricochet from every wall, shadows repeating her words darkly. “No funeral, no burial, nowhere to be remembered. No one to remember her.” She’s silent another moment to regain herself. “Are we  _all_  going to be like that?” Shaw shakes her head, neck brushing back and forth against Root’s hair.

"Not a chance," Shaw replies, with somber earnest. "We’re all going to remember each other. Just like you remember her."

___________\ We’ll Find You /__________

Neither woman new how long they sat there, just that they were stiff. Each movement caused a groan in their joints, like old tin soldiers coming to life after years in their boxes. Root could feel the sadness inside, but it was more of a dull pulsing pain now. Sitting here with Shaw, arms kept snugly around her, left her free to feel vulnerable. And in a way, she liked it. She liked being able to get all of this out, after so much time hiding the past. Finally, after so many years, Hanna didn’t only exist in her head. She can hear Shaw breathing, the slow in and out, and the steady beat of her heart. And with every beat, the memory seems to recede further and further back into where it came from. At some point in their mindless sitting, Root had brought her feet onto the bench, and Shaw had rested her head to the side atop Root’s.

From somewhere behind, there are footsteps. They sound like men’s shoes, a heavy but subtle thud against the ground as one of their friends comes in after a long day’s work. She tenses slightly, preparing for Shaw to let go of her- knowing it would be too much to ask to stay in her arms.  _Especially in front of someone else_ , she thinks. The footsteps grow until they are the only thing in Root’s ears- practically on top of them- then they stop. All is quiet for another minute, and then they drift away. Distantly, they walk back and forth. Papers are shuffled, keys are pressed, and steps are taken. But none walk back this way.

And all the while, Shaw never once moved. _Is she sleeping?_ Root thinks, eyes peering up in vain. _I don’t think she’s that heavy of a sleeper._

"Sam?" Root’s voice barely carries, but it is enough.

"Yeah?" Shaw replies in the same manner. Root’s mind relaxes.

"Just seeing if you were awake," she answers honestly, too tired herself to come up with a good lie. Any lie, really. Fatigue surrounds her, like any person after being subjected to pain, and she feels her muscles relax once more, sinking back into Shaw’s embrace. She feels her eyelids drooping, and strains to keep them open. Before her is a concrete wall masked by faded yellow tile, but she doesn’t see it. Instead, she sees a memory. A pleasant one of herself and Hanna- a sleep over from years and years ago. Drifting off once more, she lets herself go, having the first truly pleasant memory of her friend in many years.


End file.
